


Money Talks

by Last_Chance_Anna



Series: STAY [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: But mostly sweetness, Can't get away from that, Don't really want to, Fluff, I wonder if that has ever been a tag before, M/M, Maybe the tiniest sliver of non-fluff, Pangolins, Short description of a sex-act, Steve and Tony just being together, That's it, just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:14:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22037629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Last_Chance_Anna/pseuds/Last_Chance_Anna
Summary: The end of the whole thing.  This is just a sweet, little ending to the STAY series.  Not much happens, but I don't really think it needs to.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: STAY [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1543645
Comments: 18
Kudos: 47





	Money Talks

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the AC/DC song

The rain had started a few hours ago and had not let up since. It wasn’t a hard, pounding, driving rain, but it was persistent. It fell in a steady drizzle. The sound came through the open window, calming, soothing in the hour just after midnight.

They’d climbed into bed an hour ago. It had become their routine. Dinner at seven, a movie or a couple hours of TV after that, then Steve washed the dishes while Tony picked up and took out the trash. At ten, they’d watch the news. It was an old-timey thing to do in this day and age when news from every corner of the Earth could be had at any moment with a press of a button or a voice command, but Steve liked it. He liked the act of sitting on the couch with a can of Coke or a beer by his hand, Tony lying against him, watching the news of the day become the history of the world. It made him feel better. Especially on days when he couldn’t stop thinking about the past. Couldn’t stop remembering Bucky falling, or hearing Peggy’s voice, or feeling the cold water running up over his legs, his torso, his shoulders, his mouth-- _oh god, it’s going in my mouth, help me! Somebody, god, help me, I’m choking, Bucky! I’m drowning!_ \--or the way the sun glinted in Nat’s hair as she hovered over him like an angel, a beautiful, terrible angel on that grassy little hill in Central Park. How big and scared Tony’s eyes were as Steve drew the edge of the razor across his own throat, and the way the blood fell in huge red drops, the way it sheeted down his neck, his chest, and pooled beneath his body.

But those days were becoming less frequent. He had a lot of days now where he didn’t think of any of those things. Now, he thought about drawing. About gardening. About grocery lists, and dinner plans, and the kids at the hospital where he volunteered, and the psychology classes he was taking at the junior college two towns over. He thought about Natasha and Bruce coming up for the weekend, and Sam telling him about the pretty barista who wrote her number on his cup and the date they had on Friday. He thought about Rhodey and the FWB thing he had going with Maria Hill, and Steve was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to know about that, but Tony liked to talk, and they all knew it, so why would anybody tell him a secret they didn’t want everyone in their group to know about, huh? He thought about Wanda and Bucky-- _they_ were platonic, at least, Bucky keeping tabs and an eye on her when Steve could not and sending him updates via text with a side of _I’m fine too, asshole, in case you still care :(_ to which Steve would invariably respond: _Fuck you, Barnes._ “I love you” in code.

But watching the news made him feel better. Even when the news was bad, it was still news to _everyone_ , not just him. Not like the moon landing, or the JFK assassination, or the 9/11 attacks. Now, with the TV on, and a fire in the hearth, and Tony’s head on his shoulder, he finally felt like he was a part of things. He finally felt like he belonged in this world again. Even if this world had stories about inequality, and climate change, and presidential scandals.

When the news was over, they’d go to the bedroom. More often than not, they’d make some kind of love--sometimes fast and hard, sometimes long and slow, sometimes it was just a quick hand-job. Steve was particularly fond of the nights when Tony would lay him down on the bed still fully-clothed, open his jeans just enough to suck him off, then masturbate until he came all over Steve’s chest and face. It was messy, dirty, and so very, very good. Steve usually came again just from the sensation of Tony’s release hitting his cheeks and lips, leaving him a shuddering, weak puddle unable to move for fifteen minutes. Those nights necessitated a lot of laundry the next day, but Steve never complained. It was worth it.

Some nights, they didn’t have sex at all. Some nights, they’d just shower and brush their teeth and get into bed. Tony would prop his pillows up, put on his glasses, and work on his tablet. Steve would do some homework-- _Homework!_ God, he hadn’t done any homework when he was in school the first time--or just read a book until he dozed off.

That’s how tonight had gone, and that was what Steve was doing now, not sleeping, just dozing, lying on his back, one hand on his own stomach, the other curled loosely into Tony’s t-shirt. The rain outside the window was quiet and comforting. The bed was soft, warm with their combined body heat. Steve had never felt such perfect contentment in his life.

His doze was starting to deepen, to become true sleep, when Tony’s voice came out of the quiet. 

“Baby? You awake?”

Steve grunted. It sounded like a ‘yes’ in his head, but it must not have come out that way, because Tony shook him a little.

“Baby?”

Steve turned his head on the pillow. Tony’s lamp was still on, and Steve squeezed his eyes shut even tighter to compensate. “Wha-?” he muttered, and at least that was part of a word.

“Can I ask you something?”

Steve turned his face away from the offending light, but untangled his hand from Tony’s shirt and patted his leg with it. It felt like an awkward, silly thing to do, but if Tony had a problem with awkward and silly, he would have left him by now.

“Sure,” he said. He was still seventy percent asleep, so he hoped the question wasn’t too important.

“How pissed would you be if I sent the pangolin people some money?”

Steve cracked an eye open. Tony was looking at him, his glasses flashed with reflected light from his tablet. Steve rubbed his eyes.

“What?”

“You know,” Tony said, his voice deceptively light. “The pangolin people.”

Steve drug himself up against the headboard, and leaned over to look at the screen in Tony’s hand. He laughed a little under his breath and laid his head on Tony’s shoulder. “You finally Googled it,” he said, watching the scaly little creatures wandering here and there, their clawed forelegs held out in front of them. Even as Steve watched, one rolled abruptly into a ball.

“Look at ‘em go,” Tony said, pointing at the screen.

Steve smiled and slipped closer to Tony, resting more fully against him. He rubbed his cheek against Tony’s shoulder, then kissed it and closed his eyes. 

He was starting to drift off again, when Tony said, “Well?”

Steve opened his eyes again. “Well, what?”

“How pissed would you be?”

“Why would I be pissed?”

Tony shrugged gently, trying not to disrupt Steve too much.

Steve rolled his head until his lips found the soft skin of Tony’s neck. He kissed him once--or twice. “Don’t worry,” he said.

“Really? Because--”

“Tony. Don’t worry.”

“I won’t give them much,” Tony promised, fingers flying over the keys, inputting his information into the ‘Donate’ section of the site. “Just a few hundred thousand.”

Steve snorted, his eyes drifting closed once more. “‘Few hundred thousand’?” he teased, and yawned before settling himself completely against Tony’s side. “That’s it?”

“Fuck,” Tony muttered. “You’re right. That’s not enough. They’re the most trafficked mammal in the _world_.”

Steve dragged himself up from sleep one more time. “No, no, no,” he said, putting one large hand over Tony’s so he couldn’t type. “Tony, I was kidding. No more.”

“But,” Tony protested, “Steve--”

“No.”

“But, their little _hands!_ Steve, look at them.”

Steve plucked the tablet out of Tony’s resisting fingers, ignoring the instant pout and grabby-hands of his partner, and sat it on his own bedside table. “No,” he said firmly. “No more. You’re gonna freak these poor people out.”

“Nobody gets freaked out by money, baby. Especially not a charity. They _want_ people to throw money at them. It is literally their one goal.”

Steve sighed, giving in. It was easy, that giving in. Maybe too easy, but that seemed to be the way of things when it came to Tony. “Okay. Okay, fine.”

Tony grinned and climbed on top of Steve to grab his tablet from Steve’s side of the bed. He stayed there, perched on Steve’s lap, a knee on either side of his hips, tapping on the screen. “They’re going to love us, baby, just wait and see.”

“Tony.”

Tony glanced up, the sound of Steve’s voice stopping him immediately. “What is it?”

Steve looked at him, his brow furrowed, thinking. “Tony, give them Ross’ money,” he said finally.

“What?”

Steve nodded, and as he did, it felt like a huge weight--maybe the only real weight left on his shoulders--was suddenly gone. “Yeah. Give it to them. All of it.”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “ _All_ of it?”

“Yeah.”

“Baby,” Tony began patiently, but Steve shook his head. 

“No. I’m serious. All of it. Please.”

“That’s five million dollars, Steve.”

“I know,” he said, nodding. “But it’s okay. I’ve got my pension from the army. I don’t need it.”

Tony rolled his eyes affectionately. “No, you don’t _need_ it. You don’t _need_ your pension either, baby, we’ve got plenty of money, that’s not the point.”

“No, it’s not the point,” Steve agreed. “The point is, I don’t want it. I hate it. I hate having it.” He shuddered a little, and Tony rubbed his shoulder, giving him unconscious comfort. “It feels like blood money.”

“It _is_ blood money. But it was _your_ blood. And that’s worth a hell of a lot more than five million dollars.”

Steve leaned up and kissed Tony’s mouth softly. “Thank you for saying that,” he said. “But I still don’t want it. I just want to forget it. Please, Tony? Just...Just get rid of it.”

Tony looked into his eyes for a long time, searching them, then kissed him again, soft and long. “Okay,” he said. “Okay.”

Steve leaned back against the headboard again, watching Tony give Ross’ money away. 

Five million dollars. 

What would he have done when he was a kid for five _hundred_ dollars, and now he was giving away five _million_.

But it was right. He knew it. That weight was gone. The only weight on him now was Tony’s, and that was the only weight he ever wanted to feel again. That weight was nice. That weight was perfect, warm, wanted, _needed_. That weight was worth that five million dollars times a thousand.

“Hey,” Steve said, and Tony looked up, his hand hovering over the screen. “Make sure you do it anonymously.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Please?”

“You’re killing me, Steve.” Steve smiled his little half-smile, and Tony rolled his eyes. “Fine. _Fine_ , Rogers. Have it your way.” He typed in a few more keystrokes, then looked at Steve one last time. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

Tony pressed a final button. “There it goes,” he said. 

“Thank god.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Tony muttered, tossing his tablet aside and leaning in to kiss Steve’s mouth again. 

Steve returned his kiss, then pulled Tony against his chest, wrapping his arms around him and put his face in his neck. He held him, just breathing him in, just being with him. Steve still couldn’t believe that this was his life now. He couldn’t believe that he was allowed to just _do this_ , whenever he wanted. It was surreal, like an Edvard Munch painting brought to life. No man should ever expect this much happiness. It would drive him mad trying to achieve it. But here it was, sitting in his lap, smelling like some fancy body wash and mint toothpaste, and running calloused, rough fingers over his back and kissing his jaw, and Steve just held on tighter, not wanting to let go. Not wanting to ever let go.

“Baby, are you okay?”

Steve nodded without lifting his head.

“Hey, don’t get too serious, ‘kay? Don’t get lost. I need you.”

Steve smiled and pressed his lips to the curve of Tony’s neck. “I’m not lost,” he said. “I know exactly where I am.”

Tony pulled away enough to look him in the eye. He held Steve’s face in his hands. His palms were very warm. “You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure you’re sure?”

Steve nodded. “Yes,” he said, then took Tony’s hand and kissed his palm. “Thank you for giving money to the pangolins.”

“You gave more than I did.”

“Okay. Well, thank you for giving _our_ money to the pangolins.”

Tony kissed him again. “You’re welcome, baby,” he said, then slid off Steve’s lap, punched his pillows into shape, and sunk down onto them. He pulled on Steve’s arm until he was lying next to him, then curled up against him. When Steve didn’t immediately put his arm around him, Tony poked him in the side and said, “Hey, cuddle me, Steve, what the hell?”

“Sorry,” Steve said, smiling to himself. He wasn’t sorry. Sometimes he did it on purpose just to have Tony react. He put his arms around him and held him tight. Tony melted against him, kissed his chest, then was quiet.

Steve began to drift again. The good life must really take a lot out of a man. He’d never slept so much or so well in his entire life.

“Baby? You awake?”

“Hm?” It was almost an answer.

“Do you ever think we should get a pet?”

Steve groaned. “We are not getting a pangolin as a pet, Tony.”

“How do you know I meant a pangolin? I might have meant a dog.”

“Did you mean a dog?”

“Of course, I didn’t mean a dog!”

“No, Tony.”

“But--”

“ _No,_ Tony.”

“Fine,” Tony sulked, pressed a couple moody kisses to Steve’s collarbone, then fell silent again.

Steve leaned into the quiet, waiting for sleep, waiting for its soft, welcoming embrace. It was just reaching for him, just beginning to enfold him, when Tony’s voice came out of the darkness one more time. It was a bit petulant, a bit sulky, and everything Steve had ever wanted and never thought he would be lucky enough to have.

“Can we at least get a cat?”

Steve laughed a little. “Yeah,” he said. “We can get a cat.”

“Yay,” Tony said, and Steve could hear the smile in his voice. Tony snuggled closer. “I want a black one.”

“Okay.”

“Or an orange one. Or a white one.”

Steve began to drift away, the sound of Tony’s voice in his ears and his body in his arms the most utterly perfect thing he had ever experienced.

“Anything you want, Tony.”

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, guys, I'm not going to cry...*disgusting amount of tears ensue*...Thank you for all of the love and kindness you have given me over the last weeks with this story, and with my life stuff. You have all been much more than I have ever deserved, and I will never forget that. That's one of the things that I can put in MY pocket and take out to look at when the world gets cold. I truly love and appreciate everyone who has stuck with this story. Thank you SO MUCH!! I hope your time with these little stories has been even a fraction as rewarding for you as it has been for me! LOVE YOU ALL!!


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